


Sick Day

by superfluffycool



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 12:09:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14260674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superfluffycool/pseuds/superfluffycool
Summary: Sam had the flu last week. Doctor Cait takes care of him - in several ways.





	Sick Day

Caitriona knew something was wrong as soon as the alarm went off and Sam made no effort to move. Her normally exuberant husband just laid there like a dead animal. Normally he'd be first out of bed, eager to start the day with an hour at the gym. She shook him.

"Sam...Samwise...Roland..."

He groaned and looked at her below heavy lids and coughed. "I don't want to get up."

She chuckled, "What a change."

He groaned, then with great effort, lifted himself up and staggered into the bathroom.

"Maybe you should stay home. You don't seem well," she called out after him.

"I'm fine. Just tired." 

He said this despite swaying a bit as he stood in the doorway to answer her, but she said nothing more. If he wanted to pretend he was Superman, she wasn't going to argue..  
...........................

About 45 minutes later, Sam reappeared. She had gotten up and put the coffee on and was reading the news on her iPad. He'd left for the gym, but apparently didn't spend much time there.

"Back so soon?"

"I don't feel well." He coughed, then stood there, his teeth chattering despite the warm coat and woolen hat and scarf he was wearing.

She stifled a laugh - he looked like a little boy, dejected because he was too sick to go out and play. "Poor baby, let's get you back to bed."

"I don't want to be sick!" She held her hand against his stubbled cheek and noted that he was quite warm. 

His eyes were abnormally glazed and he stifled a cough. "At least it's one of our days off. If you rest you should be better for shooting on Monday." He moaned in reply and shuffled alongside her as she helped him out of his coat, and then led him to the bedroom to put his pajamas back on.

She tucked him in and brought him some medicine for the fever and the cough. She turned to leave and he frowned, "You'll not stay here with me?"

"I have a few things to do - I am going to have my coffee, and then I have an appointment later."

"But - I'm sick!"

"I promise I'll make something for you. Chicken soup? How about some oatmeal with honey for breakfast?"

"I'm not hungry," he said wearily.

....................

Coffee and news consumed, she'd found him still in the bed, thank God, drifting in and out while watching some documentary series about British castles. He was half covered with a blanket (waist down), half covered with a sheet (waist up), with a single bare foot sticking out from under all of it. He was giving her a hard time. "I'm so sorry, but I have to go." 

"Why do you have to go? What appointment is it?"

"It's a hair appointment." She pulled on some jeans and selected a sweater from the closet.

"Yer not going to cut it again are you?!"

"No. I'm getting it colored." She didn't like talking about it, but she did have to get her hair colored every few weeks.

"Do you have to? Can't you reschedule?"

"It's just for an hour or so. I'll get you some things at the store. How about some ice cream? 

"Maybe...can you see if they have mint chocolate chip?"

She smiled, "Of course." She kissed his forehead, "I'll be back before you realize I'm gone." Then she turned to leave, sure that he would manage to get into trouble without her.  
................................

When she returned, she found him watching Fawlty Towers and laughing somewhat deliriously. All the covers were off and he lay there in nothing but his underwear. A mug, a large mug, sat next to him on the night table.

"You're feeling better! Did you make yourself some tea?"

"A neighan! You're back! You look so beautiful!" He opened his arms wide to embrace her, but didn't move from the bed.

She moved closer and noticed a lemon slice floating in the nearly empty mug, but no tea. She sniffed. Whiskey.

"You've been drinking."

"I made myself a hot toddy! It's like medicine!"

"You've eaten nothing today and you're sick and you decide to get drunk? Bloody Scot." Men were so helpless and stupid.

"It's medicine! I'm trying to get better!"

She took the mug and downed the rest of it herself.

"Why - why'd you do that?!"

"You've had enough. And it's a shame to waste good whiskey." She started back toward the kitchen with the empty mug.

He thought this was insanely funny and laughed so hard she heard him start to cough and wheeze. She quickly deposited the mug in the kitchen, then returned to the room to calm him.

"Shhhh..." He was crying now between fits of coughing, the laughter bringing tears to his eyes and flowing down his hot cheeks. "Shhh...it wasn't that funny." She felt her head buzz with the whiskey and had to stifle a laugh herself.

He coughed, "No, it was. It was."

His face was flushed and there was sweat along his neck and sternum. "Let me get you a cool towel. And how about some cold juice? I brought home some from the store."

"That sounds grand." He have her a big, bleary smile, "I love you so much!" Then pulled her towards him and kissed her.

Her previous irritation melted, and she savored his affection,"I know, I know. Let me get those. I'll be right back."

She returned with a damp wash towel and small glass of orange juice. He took the glass from her and sipped it, "This tastes a bit funny."

"Everything tastes funny when you're sick." 

She sat on the bed and spread the washcloth on his chest. He gasped - "That feels good." She moved it up towards his neck and and his breath quickened. The hairs along his arms stood up.

"Are you cold again, already?"

"Yes. No. " He furrowed his brow, "I don't know which one I am."

Maybe not, but she noted something he *was*. It was hard not to notice when he wasn't wearing anything except his underwear. "I can't believe you. Drunk and horny while sick with the flu."

"I can't help the last two things." He reached for the button of her jeans.

"Stop it! You should be resting."

"Could you undress yourself then? Make it easier for me."

It was hard to resist him when he was like this - mostly naked, and staring at her like a lusty puppy dog. She kept her eyes on him and removed her clothing piece by piece: the turtleneck sweater, the jeans, socks, and finally her bra and underwear. He wriggled out of his own underwear then, and turned off Fawlty Towers - good lad. She shivered and eagerly squeezed herself against his fevered form.

He rolled towards her and kissed her, his mouth warm and tasting of orange juice. She wrapped her legs around him and grinded her hips to his. His erection pressed against her soft belly and she made to roll over so he could get on top.

Instead, he stayed on his side and inched himself downward until he was between her legs, his hot mouth on her clit. She was surprised to learn that having the flu did not diminish his skills whatsoever.

She gasped and quivered at the movements of his tongue and fingers, her back arching in demand for more and more. But she stopped him before she finished. He had to pause several times to catch his breath and she didn't want to exhaust him. "Sam? Sam, come here." She pulled him up and he lay there turned towards her once more. He was still hard, and she guided him inside her, then negotiated the intertwining of their legs. He sighed at their joining, and they found an easy rhythm. 

They rocked back and forth while their hands explored. The slightest touch brought goosebumps on his sensitive and feverish skin. She relished the effect she was having on his body, and when she came, it was as much from that as her own physical pleasure. His finish was quiet, and came shortly after her own in long gasps as he burrowed his face into her neck. When their bodies were pressed against each other like this, it never took long. Following his release, the last of his essence spent, he lie there seemingly drained. 

She brushed his cheek with her knuckles, "How do you feel?"

He opened his eyes a bit and smiled, "Much better." He kissed her palm before rolling on to his back. His whole torso glistened with sweat, and his movement seemed a way to cool himself. He kept her close by folding her hand across his chest and placing his own on top. Then he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

After a few minutes, she rose and dressed herself. He was so soundly asleep that he didn't notice that she removed her hand from his chest and gently covered him with a sheet. 

While at the store, she'd bought the requisite ingredients for a hearty chicken soup. She was hungry now, too and her stomach growled as she chopped the onions and carrots, then sautéed them to perfection in the large pot. Before long, the entire concoction was bubbling on the stove. She was reading the shooting script for Monday when she heard the shower turn on. Ten minutes later, he emerged from their room, clean and wrapped cozily in his fleece robe.

"What are you doing up? You should go back to bed."

"I'm hungry."

"Well of course, it's almost one and you haven't eaten all day."

"Haven't I?" He cocked an eyebrow at her and sat down at the table with her.

She felt her cheeks turn pink. "Are you in the mood for chicken soup?"

"Is that what that is?" He turned to look at the pot the stove. "I can't smell anything."

"it's because you're sick. It's the same thing with how things taste funny."

He gave her a dreamy look.

"Oh, stop!" She laughed at this, "You're insatiable."

He rested his elbows on the table, and then his hand in one of his palms. "If I eat some soup, can I have another hot toddy later? I'll make you one, too. And we can watch a movie."

"Maybe. I want you to eat plenty of soup first."

She prepared two bowls, a brought them to the table. "Why aren't you sick, too?"

"I don't know." She sat down and pondered the question while she blew on a spoonful of noodles and carrots.

Sam stirred his own bowl, "I wish you were sick, too. That way you could stay in bed with me the whole time." He gazed at her sheepishly.

"Then who would give you medicine? Or feed you? Eddie?"

Eddie lifted her head at the sound of her name, then went back to napping in her favorite chair.

"We'd manage." Suddenly, a thought came to him, seemingly in a panic "Did you remember the ice cream? Mint chocolate chip?"

She burst out laughing. "Of course, darling. Now, eat your soup."

He leaned over and kissed her before finally digging in. The flu was no match for Samwise Roland Heughan.

The End.


End file.
